


There's Something About Richard

by siriuslymerlin



Series: The Children Are the Future [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bonding Over Shared Trauma, Building trust, F/M, Family, building relationships slowly, set in gotham canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:13:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23440729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriuslymerlin/pseuds/siriuslymerlin
Summary: Bruce Wayne has been Batman for about 6 months, and in that time, he's seen some pretty horrible things. The worst by far is the Graysons Murder, the malicious destruction of a family, leaving only a grieving son behind. History repeats in Gotham, sometimes you have to find closure the hard way.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne
Series: The Children Are the Future [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686301
Comments: 25
Kudos: 100





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! Just a quick note, this takes place in the Gotham-verse, but will pull in some elements from other sources of canon. There’s a more detailed note about the timeline I’m creating for this series on the main series page. Enjoy!

It starts with heartbreak. Bruce should’ve expected it, really, considering his own life, but how can you predict when tragedy will strike?

\--

The May breeze coming through the open window is blessedly cool against the strange, oppressive heat, and Bruce is glad for a reprieve, no matter how short it will be. He’s not nervous—of course not, it’s only Selina—more, anticipatory. Yes, anticipatory. He’s been anticipating their date all week, it’s only natural to want it to go well.

That tendril of guilt that always rises when he thinks about Selina makes its presence knows, but he shoves it bodily away. They’re adults, and she’d agreed to tonight, with no coaxing. She’d even seemed excited when he asked her.

Bruce breathes deep, letting a sense of forced calm settle over him. His shoulders drop and square, and his stance gets a touch wider. He feels good, powerful in a way that only control can lend.

“Hey, Bat.” Selina’s voice jars him, but he doesn’t flinch. Instead, he turns to her, raises an eyebrow to see her crouched on his windowsill.

“I thought I was supposed to be picking you up,” he says, leaning against the dresser. Selina looks around admiringly, taking in the artful décor. Since coming back from Tibet, Bruce took the master suite. It had felt right, like he was moving on or something, but he hadn’t had the heart to change the décor. His mother had spent weeks on making it perfect.

“Need a change of scenery?” Selina asks, dropping her bag on the bed. He notices then she’s in black leggings and her favorite leather jacket.

“Something like that,” he says. “You could’ve used the door. Alfred would’ve liked to see you.”

“I’ll talk to him while you get ready,” she says. “Where are we going, anyways?”

“Haly’s Circus is in town,” Bruce tells her. “They’ve got a spectacular trapeze act. I thought it might interest you.”

“Might.” They’ve gone back to dancing around each other, half-flirtatious, half-scared, and Bruce sort of hates it. Although, he knows he’s lost the right to Selina’s trust. He’ll take what he can get.

“Is that what you’re wearing?” he asks. “Not that I don’t enjoy it, but it seems a little… Cat.”

Selina snorts, not bothering to answer. She does, however, pointed pick up her bag and saunters into the bathroom. Bruce can admit he’d enjoyed the little show.

She takes her turn in the shower while Bruce pours over some last minute reports. There’s a meeting request from Queen industries that his secretary had marked urgent. Bruce plans on putting that off as long as he can.

“All free,” Selina says, dropping her bag back on the bed. Bruce takes that to mean she’s staying the night. He keeps his face impassive as he passes her, nodding.

“Alfred might be in the kitchen. If you catch him before his soaps, he’ll make you something,” he tells her. Selina laughs, nods, and heads off.

Bruce hurries through getting ready and when he comes downstairs, Alfred and Selina are sitting in the kitchen, talking over cups of tea.

“Headed out, Master B?” Alfred asks. “Have fun.”

“Thanks, Alfred,” Bruce says with a smile. He leads Selina down to the garage, plucking the first set of keys from the cabinet.

“Can I drive?” Selina asks, smiling at him hopefully.

“Nope,” Bruce tells her. “It wouldn’t be the gentlemanly thing to do.” Selina scoffs, but takes her seat, immediately propping her feet up on the dash. It annoys him, but Bruce knows that Selina knows, and that’s why she does it.

“You look good,” Bruce says, pulling out the garage and heading down the drive. She does, clad in tight-fitting dark wash jeans and a slinky black blouse. He’d opted for something more subtle, a pale turtleneck and black slacks.

“You too, kid,” she says. Bruce doesn’t chafe at the little nickname. He’s too mature for that. “Seriously. I might drag you to the backseat right now.”

“We’d miss the show,” Bruce drawls, but the notion makes his heart race. It’s been a long time since they’d done that.

Haly’s circus is set up at the fairgrounds, and while Bruce is always uneasy when he comes here, he doesn’t let it show. Selina slips her hand into his, squeezes it once. He’s grateful, but embarrassed.

Walking around before the show is nice, holding hands, pretending that everything’s normal, like Bruce didn’t abandon her for years. He buys her cotton candy and she wins all the carnival games. Before long, they’re herded into the main tent, arms laden with prizes. Bruce has a sneaking suspicion that they have more than they’ve earned, but he doesn’t say anything.

The show is engaging, full of bright lights, entrancing stunts, and beautifully executed scenes. Bruce and Selina laugh together at the trick ponies and dogs, the typical circus skits. The lights dim and a voice booms over the speaker system.

“And now, the main event, the Flying Grayson’s!”

The music swells, the lights dim, and a single spotlight shines on one of the platforms high near the eaves of the tent. A man, decked in a blue jump suit, steps out, waving to the crowd. Unknowingly, Bruce holds his breath. He executes a perfect swan dives, flying through the air before suddenly being caught by a woman on a bright silk. Deftly, the two trade places and the woman is tossed through the air, hurtling ramrod straight until she curls around the third and final figure, a little boy.

On and on the show goes, the family moving so perfectly and so effortlessly, Bruce could hardly believe it. His heart pangs, watching the three of them, a perfect family unit. What a talented and lucky young boy.

The boy twirls madly on the silks, twisting and winding stunningly while his parents climb up to the platform. He wraps himself in the silk, climbing deftly up to the second platform, some twenty feet from the ground. Each Grayson takes their position on their platform and Bruce understands what the finale will be. The boy will jump, swinging in a huge arc, the silk trailing behind him, and his parents will catch themselves on the silks. Elegant.

Several things happen at once.

The Grayson’s jump.

There’s a terrible ripping sound.

A scream pierces the tent.

The boy falls.

Bruce is on his feet before he realizes it, hurrying down the steps and towards the ring. Luckily, the boy didn’t fall very far, just a few feet. At worst, some broken bones. Bruce, Selina hot on his tail, makes it to the edge of the ring before someone stops him, holding him back.

The boy looks up. His parents fall.

The sound of crunching bone is nothing compared to the wet splat of heavy flesh on the hard ground. It’s deathly silent for a second, then the boy screams, a single, agonized wail, and suddenly, Bruce is twelve years old, on his knees in a dirty alley, screaming as his mother’s pearls roll away from him.

“Bruce.” His mother’s eyes are wide open, blood soaking through her mink and pooling on the pavement.

“Bruce.” His father had just enough life in him to turn away and close his eyes, to shield him perhaps.

“Bruce!” He blinks and the alley is gone, but the child is still there, trashing as someone tries to take him away from the ruined bodies. Selina grabs his hand so tight he thinks she might snap his bones.

“We have to go, come on, they could still be here.” Right. Batman. It’s Batman’s job to find the person responsible and make them pay. His suit is in the car.

Together, he and Selina race out of the tent. Bruce splits right and Selina goes left. Bruce moves fast, throwing himself into the car and grabbing just the cowl and the chest plate. He straps it on as he moves, jamming the cowl on his head to obscure his face. Thankfully there’s a set of bataraangs strapped into the chest plate.

There’s a truck roaring into the compound near the main tent, something he almost missed with the utter pandemonium of people pouring out of the tent, screaming as they run. Miraculously, Selina’s pursuing on the other side, but she’s in high-heeled boots, not her usual combat ones.

“Fuck,” Bruce snarls under his breath, pushing himself to go faster. There’s a trio of masked men racing towards the truck and Bruce plucks a bataraang from his chest plate and aims carefully, low to take out kneecaps. His mark is near perfect, the bataraang embedding itself in one of their thighs.

The man howls, cursing viciously and going down. Bruce takes aim again, but before he hit his mark, a high-heeled boot flies in a devastating arc, nailing the second guy in the head. Bruce smirks, aiming for the third.

Gunshots ring through the air and he drops, but not quick enough. One of the bullets smash through the comms in the right bat ear, and he swears, the crackle in his ear drowning out the screams. He shakes his head, trying to down the sound.

“You good, Bat?” Selina asks, hauling him up. She yanks off her other shoe sending it flying towards the truck. It swerves wildly and Selina only manages to take out one of the rear view mirrors.

“Did you catch the license plate?” he rasps out. Selina spares him a look to make sure he’s not bleeding out, nodding.

“Part of it.”

“It’ll be enough.” They take a second to catch their breaths, slipping back into the shadows. Selina fishes the car keys out of his pocket, taking off the way she came. Bruce yanks off the cowl, scowling. He flings it on the ground, stamping on it hard. It’s petty, yes, but he has spares.

He peels off the chest plate, waiting for Selina. She drives up slowly, headlights off. Bruce schools his expression, sliding into the car silently. Selina pulls out of the fairgrounds before she turns the lights back on.

“Bruce?” He ignores her, fuming. Mostly, he’s angry at himself. He got sidetracked, his memory drowning him, wasting precious seconds. “Come on, Kid, talk to me.”

“I’ll get you new shoes,” he says gruffly. Selina scoffs, going silent. She drives too fast, but Bruce doesn’t call her on it. In the garage, he gets out of the car before she’s even turned the car off. He makes his way to the cave, clenching his jaw so hard it hurts.

He boots up the computer, hacking his way into the city’s mainframe. He pulls up the vehicle registry before he realized he never asked what the plate number was. His anger dissipates a little and he looks up the door. There’s a good chance she’s already gone, which means he won’t see her for weeks. Groaning, he pulls himself out of the chair and makes his way back to the main house.

“Well, Master B, I take it there was an incident?” Alfred’s in the study, sitting primly on the couch. He’s got a few business reports on his lap.

“Mary and John Grayson were killed during their performance,” Bruce says, taking a seat by him. “They have a son. He’s still alive.”

“Damn shame,” Alfred says, eyebrows knitting together. “Selina hadn’t mentioned it. I assumed you’d simply gotten into a fight.”

“She’s still here?” Bruce says, surprised.

“Unless she’s left by window, then yes.” Bruce thanks him hurriedly, making his way upstairs. He finds Selina in his bathroom, soaking in the tub. She has her knees pulled up to her chest, the tips of hair catching in the bubbles. Bruce appraises her carefully, trying to gage just how much apologizing he’ll have to do to coax the information from her.

“HGF something,” she says monotonously, not looking at her. Bruce blinks in surprise. He really hadn’t expected to just get it from her. Shame burns hot in his cheeks. He knows she’s a good person, under the claws and the attitude. Of course, she’d want to help.e

Bruce shrugs out of his clothes, sliding into the tub behind her. Bruce pulls Selina against him, tucking her head under his chin.

“I keep hearing that fucking sound,” she says. “And the kid.” Her voice breaks then, and she takes a shuddering breath.

“Sometimes I forget that I was there that night.” Bruce knows exactly what she means: the night in the alleyway with his parents. “I heard that kid and I heard that scream and…”

“I know,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

“Get me the actual plate and I’ll see if I know anything, or if I know anyone who does,” she says softly after a beat.

“Thank you,” he says sincerely. God, he’s missed her so much.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce gets a call from Jim Gordan in the morning, which is strange in and of itself, but it’s on his private number.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Admittedly, there wasn’t a ton of Dick in the last chapter, but don’t worry, we’re getting to him! Enjoy!

Bruce gets a call from Jim Gordan in the morning, which is strange in and of itself, but it’s on his private number.

“Bruce,” he says by way of greeting.

“Hey,” he says, pulling himself out of bed. Selina peeks at him through a tangle of her honey-colored curls.

“Did I wake you?”

“No,” he says, quietly slipping down to his study. “What’s going on?”

“Look, I don’t know if you know what happened last night at the circus—”

“About the Grayson’s? I’m aware.”

“I, uh, was hoping to talk to you,” Jim says, sounding exhausted. He’s commissioner now, so it’s a little surprising that he’s on the case. “It’s about the kid.”

“What’s wrong?” Bruce makes his way back to his room, getting ready while Jim fills him in. Apparently, he’s a precocious kid, angry, vicious, and apparently without any family. Jim had been hoping Bruce would talk to him, get him to calm down enough to work with the case worker. He agrees, scrawling a quick note for Selina and texting Alfred on his way down.

The police station is buzzing as usual, but Bruce strides in. Harvey Bullock is still at the same desk he’s been at and when he sees Bruce, he gives him a nod and gestures up to the office. Bruce makes his way up, stopping short when he sees the kid in question, sitting on the bench outside. He pays no attention to Bruce, glaring hard at the floor.

Bruce heads into the office, shutting the door behind him quietly. Jim’s sitting at the desk, surrounding by paperwork.

“Hey,” he says. “That’s him outside?”

“Hey,” Jim says with a sigh, gesturing for Bruce to take a seat. He looks old, Bruce notices with a start. “Thanks for coming.” Bruce nods, waiting for him to go on.

“I, uh, I knew his parents,” Jim admits. “Before they’d actually gotten together. They were witness in one of the first cases I had when I started here. They were just teenagers.”

“I’m sorry,” Bruce says. Jim’s always taken his cases personally.

“I mean, he’s fair bit younger than you when you lost your parents, but I was hoping you could talk to him,” Jim says.

“He won’t stop being angry,” Bruce says. “Not until he has somewhere to put all that anger.”

“Maybe you help him with that, too,” Jim says. “He’s been refusing to go to the temporary home.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Bruce says, though he’s unconvinced. They may have gone through something horribly similar, but that were the similarities end between them. Bruce had Alfred to help pick up the pieces, but from the sound of it, he doesn’t have anyone.

Outside Jim’s office, Bruce takes a seat next to the kid. He clears his throat, getting his attention and trying for a smile. The kid, Richard, narrows his eyes, already suspicious.

“Hello,” Bruce says, sticking his hand out. “My name’s Bruce.”

Richard doesn’t take his hand, eyeing his wearily.

“Are you another case worker?” he asks.

“No,” Bruce says. “Actually, I’m a friend of commissioner Gordon.”

“Are you working on the case?”

“In a sense,” Bruce says. “How do you feel?”

“My parents are dead,” Richard says sharply, giving him an incredulous look.

“So are mine,” Bruce says baldly. “I was a little older than you when it happened. I know what’s it like.”

“They’re not coming back,” Richard says, but it sounds like it’s more for him than Bruce.

“Commissioner Gordan is a good detective,” Bruce tells him. “He’ll find who did this and bring them to justice.”

“I want whoever killed them dead,” Richard snarls, eyes bright and vicious. Bruce understands him, completely, because he was the same way. He’s not going to feel okay until he has closure, but he’s too young to truly understand what that means.

“That might not make you feel better,” he says. He fishes out a business card and a pen, scrawling his cell phone number on it. “Here. Give me a call if you want to talk about things.” Richard takes the card gingerly, turning it over in his hands before shoving it in his pocket. He nods once, looking down at his shoes.

\--

Bruce works this case for the next week, following new leads as he goes out for patrol. So far, things are pointing to the Zucco crime family, who are a little lower on the food chain in Gotham, but they’re power hungry.

Selina’s been helping, sending him new leads and following up on the ones he doesn’t follow. Bruce knows she still runs jobs, but he doesn’t comment on it. Hopefully, the more time they spend together, Selina will stop.

Finally, Bruce gets a solid lead. The killer was a lower level player, one of the cousins trying to prove himself. The actual fight to bring him in is nearly effortless, but the evidence isn’t strong. Hopefully they have a solid DA.

\--

Tony Zucco goes free.

\--

Bruce gets a phone call on his personal line at nearly four in the morning, so understandably, he’s a little pissed.

“Hello?” he nearly growls into the phone.

“Um, it’s Dickie—I mean, Richard Grayson. We met at the police station. You gave me your card—”

“I remember.”

“I need help,” he says, small-voiced. Bruce sighs; he shouldn’t be so curt. He’s the one who gave the kid his direct line in the first place.

“Are you in trouble?” Bruce asks, rolling out of bed. In the dark of the room, Bruce can make out Selina flipping him a lazy middle finger.

“Um…”

“Where are you?”

Before the kid can answer, there’s a clatter, a soft grunt, then Richard exclaiming in indignation.

“Who’re you talking to, ya little twerp? Who is this?” someone is decidedly not Richard asks. Bruce scowls, striding into the bathroom.

“This is Bruce Wayne,” he says in his best I’m-Thomas-Wayne-And-I’m-Important-voice. “Whom do I have the pleasure of speaking to?”

“M-Mr. Wayne!” There’s a near silent scuffle on the other side and Bruce puts the phone on speaker as he hurries into his clothes. He’s halfway to the cave before the speaker returns. “This is Officer Hire, Precinct 1. I don’t know how the kid got your number, sir, but we’re taking care—”

“I’ll be coming to collect him shortly,” Bruce says, clipped. He’s always had a deep disdain for people who simpered at him because of his name. Bruce makes it down to the garage before Alfred arrives, glaring at him sleepily.

“Right,” he says. “And just what do you think you’re doing?” Bruce freezes at the tone, fighting back the urge to hang his head like a little boy chided.

“I got a phone call,” he says vaguely, hoping Alfred won’t press him.

“About?”

“A citizen in trouble.”

“Does Batman make house calls now?” Bruce groans, leaning against the nearest car. Unfortunately, it’s the Rolls that Alfred favors, which garners him no points.

“Bruce Wayne does,” he says. Alfred only quirks an eyebrow, reaching his hand out for the keys. Reluctantly, (and perhaps petulantly), Bruce hands them over and flops into the passenger seat, posture be damned. At once, Alfred calls up the captain on duty, efficiently taking the call and driving. Bruce doesn’t bother to listen; he’s got a pretty good idea of what exactly happened.

When they arrive, an exhausted looking Jim Gordan meets them in the lobby, ushering them straight up to his office, where Richard Grayson sits, handcuffed to the chair. Bruce quirks an eyebrow, but Jim shakes his head.

“Well?”

Richard says nothing, glaring hard at the cuffs. His wrists are bruised an angry purple, like he’s been pulling for quite some time.

“You want to tell me what happened, kid?” Jim says, leaning against the desk. Richard shrugs his shoulders and before he can answer, an officer bursts in. He’s young, probably straight out of the academy.

“Commissioner! I didn’t think—I mean, I’m the one who found the kid.”

“I’ll get to you later, Hire.” All Jim has to do is shoot him a sharp look before Hire scuttles back the way he came, an embarrassed flush painting his face for all to see. There’s a tiny smirk on Richard’s face.

“Look kid,” Jim tries again. “You got two options. You can talk to me and Bruce, or you can talk to your social worker in front of a judge. I mean, I got the incident report in front of me, and it really is not looking too good.”

“They let him go,” Richard says softly. “Batman got him, but they still let him go.”

“Tony Zucco,” Jim explains for Bruce’s benefit. He nods. He’s been thinking of ways to get evidence, but a string of armed robberies has cropped up that demanded his attention. “He, uh, got bagged for the Grayson murders.”

“He did it and they still let him go!” Richard snarls, glaring up at them with fierce eyes. “That’s why I did it.”

“Sorry, still not clear as to why the boy is here,” Alfred interjects.

“Kid got picked up on assault charges, but he’s too young for them to stick,” Jim explains. “Kid, you put yourself into a really hard position. You foster parents were worried sick—”

“They don’t care about me!” Richard yells, thrashing against the cuffs. Jim sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looks back at the framed picture on his desk. It’s a nice shoot of Dr. Tompkins, him, and his daughter, Barbara. Bruce figures she must be around Dick’s age.

“If you promise you’re not going to run, I’ll take those off,” Jim offers, producing the key from his pocket. Richard stills appraising them. He nods and Jim gets to work, gently removing the cuffs.

“We’ll be right back,” he says, gesturing to Bruce and Alfred. “We’re going to get you some ice for those wrists.”

Bruce and Alfred head out, waiting for Jim to close the door behind them.

“I didn’t think you’d be here,” Jim starts, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“Richard called me,” he says simply.

“They bagged him around midnight, and apparently, he’s been asking to talk to you all night. I guess none of the officers believed you’d respond, so he got loose. Alverez called me an hour ago, he was cap on duty.” Detective Alverez has made his way up to Captain, apparently.

“What did you mean when he had two choices?” Jim chuckles humorlessly, shaking his head. He leads them over to a small coffee station next to a fridge. He pulls a few ice packs out of the ice box, wrapping them up.

“He ran from his foster parents, and we’re trying to get his SW on the phone, but it’s shaping up to look like he’s either going to be put in a new placement, or into a rehab center for the anger. This city’s already so strapped for resources to help these kids, so most likely—”

“There’s not another placement for him?” Jim gives him a weird look.

“You forget how the city works already?” Bruce colors slightly, admonished. He glances to Alfred, who’s watching the boy inside Jim’s office with a forlorn sort of smile.

“What if we took him?” Bruce says, surprising even himself. Alfred’s head whips around and he gapes at Bruce, but the more he thinks, the more sure he is. “What would it take to convince his social worker to allow us to care for him?”

“Master B!” Alfred sputters. “Are you sure this is a decision you should be making, mate?”

“We’re the only ones who can truly understand him,” Bruce says. For some reason, his voice holds steady as he speaks, explaining that Richard could really learn something about coping from him. At this, Alfred scoffs, which is a bit rude, but Bruce lets it slide. There’s a small voice in the back of his head, deep in the recesses of his brain, that is positively shrieking at the idea. Bruce? Raise a child?

Jim fixes him with a sharp glare, one that says ‘reconsider before I make you’. “Children are a lot of work. It’s not a joke, and it’s not a game.”

The childish part of him, the one that never learned how to properly respect authority, reels at the insinuation.

“I’ve been where he’s been,” Bruce says. “I can help him, or don’t you remember?” At this, Jim deflates, pinching the bridge of his nose and muttering darkly.

“Alverez,” he barks, eyes still shut tight. “Call Roxanne Wilt, with CPC. Tell her it’s about the Grayson case.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, I like to believe that Bruce adopts kids the same way people impulse shop online. A small, angry child in need of a good home??? Taken. Anyways, see you next week!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Selina doesn’t expect him to be this small. Richard John Grayson is eight years old, thin and knobble kneed. His eyes are too red and puffy for a child. He’s also got a pretty crazy rap sheet for an eight-year-old: running away, breaking and entering, theft, and assault. Still, she crouches to reach his height.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyways, I’m incapable of leaving Selina Kyle alone. Enjoy!

Selina doesn’t expect him to be this small. Richard John Grayson is eight years old, thin and knobble kneed. His eyes are too red and puffy for a child. He’s also got a pretty crazy rap sheet for an eight-year-old: running away, breaking and entering, theft, and assault. Still, she crouches to reach his height.

“Hi. I’m Selina,” she says softly, setting her hand gently on his shoulder. Richard bobs his head once.

“Dickie,” he says. Selina straightens up with a smile, brushing her fingers kindly against his cheek. Bruce takes his little hand, escorting his further into the house. Selina eyes them both with weary eyes. Dickie’s too young to be an orphan, and Bruce is too young to be a parent. Hell, twenty-three is too young to have any kind of life altering responsibility, let alone one taken entirely on an impulse

“Hello mate,” Alfred says, stepping out into the foyer. He kneels down to look at Dickie with a smile, settling his hands on his little shoulders. “My name is Alfred Pennyworth, I’m the caretaker here. You need anything, you just give a shout, alright?”

“Yes, sir,” Dickie says quietly, nodding again.

“Why don’t we get you settled in?” Bruce suggests. “You can take a little nap before dinner.”

“I’m too old for naps,” Dickie says, a frown tugging at his lips. It’s the first full sentence Selina’s heard his speak. Bruce falters for a moment, before smiling again.

“Okay. You can just rest then,” he offers. “Or, you can go exploring, if you want. Selina or I could show you around.” Dickie shrugs, gazing at the huge chandelier and the grand spiral staircase. Selina remembers the feeling, feeling terribly small in his huge mansion.

“Come on, kiddo,” Selina says, reaching for his free hand. He’s not exactly a hand-holder, his own limp in her grip, but he allows her to lead him. Bruce lets him go, picking up a small suitcase. “Let’s go see your new room.”

Bruce had his old room redecorated for him, painted over in a robin’s egg blue. There are matching bedsheets and a new dresser and desk. Bruce sets the suitcase down by the dresser, snapping open to put away the clothes and books and toys. There’s really not much there.

“Thank you,” Dickie says in a flat voice. “I’m going to rest.”

“Hey, how about after dinner, we can break out the old puzzles and board games,” Bruce says. Dickie nods, climbing onto the bed and settling his head on the pillows. Bruce opens his mouth to say something else, but Selina puts a hand on his arm, shaking his head.

“We’ll come get you when it’s time to eat, okay?” Selina says, picking up a blanket and draping it over his little body. There’s something about him that makes her want to soothe him, take care of him somehow. Maybe some latent maternal instinct or some bullshit.

“Okay.” Dickie’s voice is thick, trembling a little. Bruce’s expression deflates, shoulders slumping. Selina leads him out of the room.

“God, what am I supposed to do?” he asks once they’re out of earshot. “I remember how much pain I was in when my parents died, and I was much older.”

“I’ve been there. My mom left when I wasn’t much older,” Selina says. “He needs to process. He needs to understand what happened. Once he does, we can help him through it.”

“He’s so young,” Bruce says. He sounds exhausted, much too old for his age.

“He’ll bounce back,” Selina assures him. “Hell, he tracked down his parents’ killer and tried to murder them. He’s pretty par for the course, don’t you think? You did the same things.”

“I never got over that,” Bruce counters. “Look at me, I’m a damn mess. He doesn’t deserve this, he deserves someone whole—”

“He deserves someone who’ll understand exactly what he’s going through and will help him,” Selina interrupts firmly. She grips Bruce’s lapels, forcing him to look at her. “You can do this. And I’ll be around to help too. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I don’t want to ruin him.” Selina loops her arms around him, pulling down a little. He’s been taller than her for a while, but he’s growing muscle fast. All that running around on rooftops, she supposes.

“Don’t let him dress up like an animal and fight crime,” she jokes. That earns a wane smile, and Bruce follows her down to his office, waiting for Alfred to finish dinner.

For the next few days, Dickie does the same thing every day. He wanders the manor, presumably mapping it out. He’s polite when he runs into Bruce or her, but he doesn’t seek them out. Bruce pulls out all his old books and toys, but Dickie shows zero interest in them. He wanders like he’s holding his breath, like he’s waiting for something.

Selina’s been picking up slack with the whole vigilante thing, but she doesn’t do it like Bruce does and she can tell he’s getting antsy to get out. Two weeks into Dickie’s stay, Bruce gives in and heads out, after asking Selina to stay in, in case Dickie needed her. She’d grumbled about it, but she’d agreed.

Things are a little weird with them, now that they’re playing house, and Selina sort of hates it. She hates accompanying Bruce to events, sitting at the dinner table every night at the same time, eating the same four meals because that’s all that Dickie will eat. She hates herself for hating it.

Currently, she and Dickie are sitting in the parlor, Selina flicking through a magazine and Dickie sprawled out in front of the fireplace, reading one of Bruce’s old detective paperbacks. He might be too young to be reading it, but she’s not exactly one to judge.

Alfred pokes his head in, a grim expression on his face.

“Miss Kyle, could I speak to you a moment? In private?” he asks. Selina sets aside her magazine, smiles at Dickie when he looks up, and follows Alfred out.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, once they’re out of ear shot.

“Master Bruce’s comm went down. I need you to be my link here while I go after him,” Alfred explains. “He might need help.”

“No way. You stay here and I’ll go get him. You know the equipment down there better and besides, that cave creeps me out,” Selina counters. Alfred sighs, shutting his eyes for a moment.

“Miss Kyle, it makes better sense if you stay—”

“It really doesn’t,” Selina interrupts.

“What’s going on?” Dickie wanders into the hall, a curious expression on his face.

“Nothing, Master Dick, go on back to your book,” Alfred says kindly.

“I want to know what’s going on,” Dickie says. “Where’s Bruce? Is he in trouble?”

“Nah, kiddo, everything’s okay,” Selina assures him, but he’s pretty good at picking out lies. Comes with the territory of being a foster kid and a circus brat, she thinks.

“No, it’s not,” Dickie says matter-of-factly. “I can help, I want to know what’s going on.”

“I’m just running an errand,” Alfred says, effectively trapping her in that dank computer room Bruce calls an HQ. Selina groans softly. “Miss Kyle will be around if you need her though.”

“Can I come too?” Dickie asks, eyeing Alfred carefully.

“Isn’t it almost bedtime, mate?” Dickie looks admonished for about a second before shrugging.

“I’m not tired.”

“You say that now, but once we get you back into school, you’ll be glad for that bedtime,” Alfred says. The threat of school seems to be enough and Dickie drops it, nodding and heading back to the parlor.

Selina and Alfred go down to the cave, Alfred taking off in the spare car once Selina sets up the comm link. She starts by trying to track Bruce’s signal, but all she finds is his last location. He must’ve lost his comm here. She hopes he didn’t lose that mask.

It takes a while, but Alfred finds him in the middle of a bomb diffusion. Selina waits with them on the line, talking them through schematics. She hates this part, all this chained to a computer bullshit.

That’s when she hears it.

There’s a soft footstep somewhere behind her and Selina instantly freezes for a second, before carrying on like everything’s fine. She focuses on the sound behind her, gauging the threat. There’s quiet shuffling sound, maybe fidgeting, and immediately Selina knows who it is.

“Dickie, get out here. Now.”

She turns around waiting. She knows she’s supposed to be mad or something, but honestly, she’s impressed. He’s pretty smart.

Eventually, when Dickie realizes she won’t be fooled into thinking there’s no one there, he comes out from his hiding spot, head hung.

“I just wanted to know what was going on,” he says softly.

“So, what did you figure out?” Selina asks, amused.

“He’s the Batman,” Dickie says, voice full of wonder. “Bruce is the Batman.”

“I think it’s just ‘Batman’,” Selina corrects, snickering a little.

“Is he going to be mad?” Just as Dickie asks, the garage door opens.

“I don’t know, let’s find out.”

Bruce and Alfred come out of the car and stop short at the sight of Dickie there, waiting by Selina. She’s lucky she hasn’t broken out laughing yet.

“What’s going on?” Bruce asks. “Why is Dickie down here?”

“Ask him,” Selina says, cooling at his accusatory glare. Dickie steps up, nodding.

“Alfred and Selina said you were in trouble,” Dickie admits. “I just wanted to see what kind of trouble. I didn’t know you were Batman.”

Bruce looks helplessly at Alfred, who simply quirks an eyebrow.

“Well, Master B?” he asks. “Is he in trouble?”

Bruce takes a knee, looking at Dickie carefully.

“Why did you come down here?”

“You were in trouble,” Dickie repeats, looking squarely at his shoes. “I wanted to help.”

“What could you have done?” Bruce asks. His face is impassive, but Selina can see the spark of “bad-idea” in his eyes.

“I’m a good fighter,” Dickie says. “I can throw a punch. And I’m smart, too, better than the police.”

“Are you?” Selina really doesn’t like the way the cogs are moving in his mind, and from the looks of it, neither does Alfred.

“So, you want to help me? Be my sidekick?” Bruce offers. Selina’s mouth drops open and she shoots Alfred a frantic look.

“Master B, I really don’t think—”

“He’s smart. Clearly, he figured out what was going on, no one told him. And, he found his way down here without Selina noticing until too late. And he’s an acrobat.” Bruce straightens out, clicking onto the computer. “Look at his record. Alfred, you told me before I asked Dickie to stay with us that I might be the only person who could help him.”

“He’s just a child,” Alfred reminds him. “And you made that decision on your own, B, on whim—“

“I’m not a baby,” Dickie counters. “There are bad people out there. I want to help stop them.”

“After my parents died, I needed a purpose and you gave me one, Alfred. I think he needs this,” Bruce explains. “Of course, I won’t take him out until I know for sure he’s ready. He’ll need to be trained, and it’ll be hard work.”

“I can do it! I want to do it,” Dickie says excitedly. Bruce levels him with a look.

“We aren’t doing this for fun. We’re doing this to keep the city safe, do you understand? If you do this, you have to listen to every word I say, no room for argument.”

“Alright,” Alfred says angrily. “This little game has gone on long enough. He’s a child and you’re not much better. I absolutely forbid this.”

“Alfred, you’re the one who’s telling me I need to take more responsibility for Dickie, bond with him. This is a good way—”

“I meant normal things! Basketball, going to the theater, that sort of thing!” Alfred shouts. It’s the first time that he’s ever yelled at Bruce in front of her, but Selina understands. She doesn’t trust the strange gleam in Bruce’s eyes.

“He won’t go out for a while, he’ll train up, like you did with me—”

“I can see clearly now that was a mistake!” With that, Alfred stomps off, turning only to level Dickie with a glare. After a moment’s hesitation, the boy goes after him. Bruce just stands there, stunned.

“Well, that went well,” Selina muses, ducking her head to hide her smile behind her curls. “Hey, what would you think if I dyed my hair?”

“What do you think?” Bruce demands, a petulant look on his face.

“About my hair? Thought I might go dark—”

“Selina,” he growls. She sighs, pushing her curls out of her face.

“It’s not safe for a kid on the streets,” she says. “I would know. Even with whatever training, he won’t be safe.”

“He wouldn’t go out now,” Bruce counters. “He’ll wait until he’s eighteen years old, then he can decide what he wants to do with the training.”

“Will he?” Selina asks. “You think he’s going to listen to you? Wait like a good boy while you go out and kick bad guy ass every night?”

“It’s not a joke—”

“Do you think he’s old enough to understand how dangerous this is?” Selina asks.

“We did plenty of dangerous things when we weren’t much older than him,” Bruce remarks sourly.

“Which was a bad idea,” Selina says rationally. “How many times were we almost killed?”

“Okay,” Bruce concedes. “Fine, I understand.”

“Well, I don’t,” Selina says simply. “Why do you want him to join you so bad? You’re not going to fix whatever trauma you have by making Dickie a vigilante.”

“This isn’t about me,” Bruce reply, walking away. He sets the armor aside haphazardly as he goes. “This is about making sure Dickie doesn’t lose himself.”

“He’s eight,” Selina reminds him. “It’ll take a while, but he’ll get over what happened, do normal things—”

“You don’t get over watching your parents die, Selina,” Bruce says darkly. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

Her eyes narrow, and she watches the exact moment Bruce realizes how stupid he’s being. He takes a step towards her, an apologetic look on his face. Selina sidesteps him easily, ignoring him. She stalks back to the house, slipping out of the study window and disappearing into the night before Bruce can stop her.

If he wants to be an ass, two can play at that game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty, let me know what you thought about the perspective change! Still debating about doing the rest in Bruce’s perspective, or including different perspectives.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before Bruce even knows what’s happening, Selina, all her things, and a litany of silver candelabras are gone. Honestly, he’s not that surprised. He’s been taking all his frustrations out on her the past few weeks, and they haven’t even fought about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, getting into the Bruce-Dick, father-son bonding! Enjoy!

Before Bruce even knows what’s happening, Selina, all her things, and a litany of silver candelabras are gone. Honestly, he’s not that surprised. He’s been taking all his frustrations out on her the past few weeks, and they haven’t even fought about it.

The next morning, Bruce makes his way down to the kitchen, bleary-eyed and not-quite-awake. Unfortunately, Dickie’s also there, and he’s neither of those things.

“Are we going to start my training?” he asks, far too energetic for this early in the morning. Over the years, he’s lost his taste for mornings.

“Coffee,” he grunts, shuffling over to the already filled coffee pot. The strong, fresh smell eases the last bits of sleep from him and he stands a little straighter. Thank god for Alfred. He pours himself a cup, taking a careful sip. Dickie watches him keenly, like he might burst into action at any minute.

“Yes?” Bruce prods, quirking an amused eyebrow.

“Can I try some?” he asks. Vaguely, Bruce remembers something about caffeine stunting children’s growth, but he started drinking it when he wasn’t much older and he turned out fine. Physically, at least.

“You might not like it,” Bruce says, but he brings Dickie a small teacup of it all the same. Truthfully, it’s strangely exhilarating to be talking to him like this. Dickie rolls his eyes, taking the cup and gulping it down. Bruce cracks up as he gags, taking the teacup.

“Not your taste?”

“You know you talk like an old man, right?” Dickie snarks at him, cheeks going bright red. He helps himself to a tall glass of juice, gulping it back to wash the acrid taste away.

“Well, I was raised by one,” he counters, drinking his coffee.

“Right, and who would that be, then?” Bruce jumps at Alfred’s voice, coloring slightly.

“Never mind,” he mumbles. Dickie snickers, taking his place at the table. He looks to the place beside him, as if suddenly remembering someone else is supposed to sit there.

“Where’s Selina?” he asks. Alfred and Bruce share a look, and Alfred gives him a sympathetic smile before firing up the stove.

“Selina… is going to do her own thing for a while,” Bruce explains, taking a seat across from him. “She might come back soon, but I’m not sure.”

“I thought she was your wife,” Dickie says bluntly. He thanks Alfred when’s he’s handed his breakfast, a large cheese omelet that he ravages.

“Uh, no… we don’t—I mean, it’s a little complicated,” Bruce stammers, flushing at the idea of explaining his love life to an eight year old.

“Women,” Dickie says around a mouthful of omelet, shaking his head sympathetically. Alfred snorts, setting down Bruce’s own breakfast. “So, are we going to start my training today? You never answered.”

“I thought we’d agreed to forget all that nonsense,” Alfred cuts in sharply before Bruce can answer. “It’s bad enough that B insists on it, but I don’t think my blood pressure could survive this.”

“Alfred,” Bruce says, unsure. He’d never thought about a protogee, or even a sidekick, and it would be unbelievably dangerous to involve Dickie in something like this. Still, wearing the mask can be so isolating. “I thought we’d talk about that later.”

“No!” Dickie protests. “I want to help! Tony Zucco is still out there, and I’m going to catch him, with or without your help.”

Bruce gives him his best Batman face and at once Dickie hushes up, having the decency to look ashamed of himself.

“Alfred and I are going to discuss that,” he says, feeling a little like a child playing house. “We’re going to decide what the best thing to do is and you’re going to sit tight until we let you know. Do you understand?”

Dickie pouts petulantly, looking like he wants to argue.

“Don’t you remember that I said we were doing things my way?”

“That was only for if you were going to train me,” Dickie counters. “I don’t have to listen if you’re not going to.”

Bruce is torn between want to argue back and wanting to laugh at his logic. It certainly reminds him of something he might’ve said when he was younger. Still, stern is probably the best way of approaching this.

“You’re not taking this seriously,” he says coolly. “How can I trust that you’ll have my back in the field if you won’t even listen to me now?” Dickie lights up at that, eyes shining at the prospect of being in the field.

“I’ll listen,” he says eagerly.

“Good,” Bruce says, perhaps a little curt. “That starts now. No more arguing, you do things my way completely, end of discussion.”

Dickie nods, a little less eager, but still determined. With that, he resumes shoveling his omelet, washing it down with juice. Uncertainty swirls in his stomach and Bruce can barely pick at his food.

After breakfast, Alfred follows him to the study, a strange look in his eyes.

“Well,” he drawls, and Bruce knows he’s in for a particularly vicious lecture. “You’re sounding like quite the authority, Batman.”

Bruce chafes at that, slumping down on one of the couches.

“What was I supposed to do?”

“You were supposed to prevent this whole mess yesterday!” Alfred says sharply. “He’s eight, and you promised Ms. Wilt you’d give him a good home, and a huge, no, _monumental_ part of that involves his personal safety!”

“I know—”

“I really don’t think you do! Don’t you think it’s cruel to let this charade play out?”

“It isn’t a charade—”

“That’s absolutely out of the question!”

“Alfred,” Bruce nearly growls, temper flaring. “I need to make this decision—”

“How could I possibly trust you to make any decisions about a child when you refuse to act like anything but!”

Bruce forces himself to take a deep breath, to steel his nerves. He will not lose his calm in front of Alfred. He will not disrespect Alfred by yelling at him like a child.

“Think rationally,” he says. “Dickie’s already seen me in the suit. He knows. If we tell him no, there’s a very real chance he might tell people—”

“Oh, that’s absurd, as if anyone would believe—”

“Or,” Bruce cuts in. “He could decide to take matters into his own hands, and go hunt down his parents killer. Remember, Tony Zucco got out on bail.”

“So what do you propose we do?” Alfred says, a touch flustered.

“We control the situation,” Bruce says. “We train him and make sure he realizes that this isn’t a game, that’s its not fun. Eventually, he’ll take it seriously or quit.”

“He’s too young,” Alfred protests, but his resolve is waning.

“There is absolutely no way in hell that I’ll allow Dickie out until he’s ready,” Bruce says easily. “Coincidentally, that happens to be his eighteenth birthday.”

“He’s not going to like that,” Alfred says with a frown. “Still, there’s no reason to tell him.”

The dishonestly doesn’t sit well with him, but he understands. There’s no point in giving Dickie such a tangible deadline, especially when he could rebel against it.

“Right,” Bruce agrees. “We’ll just tell him that he has to prove that he’s ready, and that I’m the only one who can decide that.” Alfred nods once, a frown marring his face. Bruce hates this, disappointing Alfred, dragging him along in his quest to do something for Gotham.

“Your father would be proud of you,” Alfred says finally. “You’re making decisions like he would, thinking like he would.”

The compliment surprises him, and instantly, a lump wedges in his throat. Bruce takes a careful, discreet breath, trying to force the lump down.

“Thank you,” he says calmly. Alfred cups the back of his neck just the same as he always has.

“I trust you, Master B,” he says simply. “I’m behind you, always.”

Dickie takes the news surprisingly well. Of course, Bruce didn’t tell him anything about his own imposed age restriction, but still.

“I’m going to work really hard,” Dickie promises, bright eyed. Bruce smiles, cupping the back of his neck.

“I know you are,” he says. “I know that you’ll take this as seriously as it deserves.”

“So, what do we do first?” he asks.

“You can sit with Alfred at HQ while I patrol tonight,” he says. “But only until your bedtime.”

“At eleven,” Dickie agrees.

“Isn’t it eight?” Bruce counters, but Dickie looks up at him with wide, guileless eyes.

“Alfred says I can stay up extra on weekends,” he says sweetly. Bruce shakes his head.

“Sunday is technically a school day,” he says. “Eight, and that’s final.” Dickie looks like he wants to argue, but thankfully, he just nods, accepting it.

“You’ll need your rest anyways,” Bruce says. “Tomorrow, we’re going to take you to enroll at Gotham Academy. They start their semester in a week.”

“What! That’s school for rich prep kids! I don’t want to go there,” he whines, forgetting himself. Bruce quirks an eyebrow.

“You know, I went there,” he says conversationally. As it is, he conveniently leaves out the part where he dropped out. Dickie gives Bruce a critical once over and Bruce fights the urge to blush.

“Right,” Dickie says. “Gotham Academy.”

“It’s a good school where you’ll get a fantastic education,” Bruce defends it. “I’m not taking on some uneducated kid. That’s another requirement, you’re going to have to bring back good grades. At least a B average.”

“That’s easy,” Dickie says confidently. “I’m really good in school.”

“Glad to hear it,” Bruce says with a smile. “Go on, now, you might as well get the most out of your last day before things really pick up.”

Dickie grins at him, running off. Bruce sighs, raking a hand through his hair. God, what has he walked himself into?

Around seven, Bruce lets Dickie accompany him and Alfred down to the cave. Suiting up feels strange with an audience, especially with the intensity of Dickie’s stare. He takes in every piece of the uniform, marveling at the armor.

Bruce takes off. It’s still fairly light outside, so he makes a couple sweeping perimeters around the city, focusing on the narrows. Right now, it’s a free for all in terms of territory. Penguin’s failing to control it, which really doesn’t bode well for either of them.

Finally the sun begins to set and Bruce steps out, stick close to the shadows. He sends the car back. Lucius Fox, who insists on being kept out of the loop when being commissioned for gadgetry, programmed the car so it could return back to the cave, cloak itself, and track Bruce down via his comm signal.

All in all, it’s a quiet night, just a few drug deals, a couple drunken brawls, and a mugging. Boring, really. Bruce figures he should be thankful for that, all things consider. He calls it just after midnight, planting a few bugs here and there to keep an eye on things. When he gets back, he finds Dickie asleep in Alfred’s lap. When he raises an eye in question, the butler’s face sours.

“He’s dangerously persuasive,” Alfred whisper, carefully shift Dickie onto his hip. Bruce pulls the armor off, holding his arms out for the boy. It occurs to him this would be the first time he’s ever held him, and it’s a strange feeling.

He’s warm, heating pouring off him like a furnace, and even though his little face is red from the heat, he still smells sweet. His fingers clutch in Bruce’s shirt, and suddenly, Bruce’s grip tightens, protective.

Somehow, Dickie is one of the most important people in Bruce’s life, and he’d do anything for him, anything to protect him. Dickie’s face is sweetly childlike when he tucks him in, and he burrows into the blankets, half asleep.

“Goodnight, daddy,” he mumbles.

A particularly heavy lump lodges in Bruce’s throat and he freezes. Dickie falls back asleep instantly, his little face going impassive with deep sleep. He means his real father, Bruce realizes belatedly. He must be dreaming of old memories. Bruce brushes back his dark hair, hope desperately they’re good ones.

“Alright, B?” Alfred asks when he emerges from the room. Bruce shakes his head, trying to clear it. He sighs, raking a hand through his hair.

“Yeah,” he says finally. “Just tired. Goodnight, Alfred.” Alfred nods, clapping Bruce’s shoulder gently.

“Night, B,” he says, making his way to his room.

His own room is uncomfortably empty, and his bed is cold despite the oppressive august heat. Bruce sighs, pulling his phone out to call Selina. Predictably, she doesn’t answer. He leaves a message.

“Hey, it’s me,” he says. “I’m sorry. What can I do to make it up to you?”

It’s not exactly a grand, romantic apology, but that’s just not their style. Eventually, Bruce will need here and she’ll just appear, like she always does. She’s never let him down and he really doesn’t think she’ll start now.

Bruce frowns at himself, forcing himself to clear his mind. He needs to be fresh for his meeting with the Academy tomorrow. It’s the first thing he’ll do for Dickie as his legal guardian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, basically this story will run until Dick officially takes the Robin Mantle. Let me know what you thought!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In all technicality, Bruce has a few meetings he’s missing, but there’s no well in hell he won’t take Dickie to school. Education is important, and he needs to set a good precedent. Who know, maybe Dickie will be so preoccupied with school, he’ll forget this whole sidekick nonsense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey gang, sorry for the late update, but in my defense, it was my birthday yesterday. A quick note about the timeline: Basically, seasons 1 – 4 of Gotham happen before season one of Smallville, which is a big part of the canon I’m using. This is almost a year post 5.10, which puts us in season 7 of Smallville. Either way, I hope you enjoy!

In all technicality, Bruce has a few meetings he’s missing, but there’s no well in hell he won’t take Dickie to school. Education is important, and he needs to set a good precedent. Who know, maybe Dickie will be so preoccupied with school, he’ll forget this whole sidekick nonsense.

(Even Bruce doesn’t believe himself.)

He gets Dickie up at the crack of dawn, ripping the covers back like Alfred used to do when he really meant business. Dickie scowls up at him, face scrunched up in sleep.

“I’m tired,” he whines, burrowing back into the pillow.

“Come on, the school opens at seven on the dot, and we have the first appointment,” Bruce tells him, shaking his shoulder for good measure.

“Why’d you pick so early?” Dickie groans, finally sitting up. He’s dressed in a pair of Bruce’s old pajama’s, monogrammed with his initials, BTW. They slip off his shoulders a little.

“I still have to go to work,” Bruce reminds him. “Don’t be late. Alfred is serious about closing the kitchen right after breakfast.”

Bruce gets himself ready while listening to his messages. His secretary is already in the office, relaying back all the messages he has.

“Was there one from a Selina Kyle?” he asks. Sometimes she’ll leave a message at his office, to spice things up, but usually that’s only reserved for when things are good. Honestly, it’s only happened once, but Bruce hopes.

“No sir, is this a new partner or…”

“An art dealer,” he clarifies, going red despite himself. God, he’d love a way to just turn off the blushing. That’s one thing the cowl is good for. “I’m looking to renovate.”

“No, sir, but would you like me to check in—”

“Just leave it,” Bruce says hurriedly. “I’ll figure it out.”

“Sir, about the 6:30 meeting with Shanghai? Will you still be attending?” she sounds nervous. Bruce tells her no, feeling a little bad. After all, it’s her that will have to tell the shareholders he won’t show. Bruce resolves to get her something to make up for it.

“I’m actually busy through the morning,” he tacks on. “I’m taking my, uh, I mean, the boy who’s living with me, I’m taking him to get registered at Gotham Academy.”

“Oh!” she sounds much brighter at that. “I have a niece that goes there! Good school! I’ll let them know, sir, you have a good morning.”

Bruce thanks her letting her off the phone. He hurries down the stairs, making it just in time to salvage his plate of bacon and eggs.

“Cutting it close, Master B,” Alfred says, getting him a cup of coffee.

“Stuff for the office,” he says by way of explanation.

“Why do you still have a job?” Dickie interjects through a mouthful of pancakes. “You’re Batman!”

“ _Bruce Wayne_ has a job,” he clarifies. “Just like Dickie Grayson goes to school.” At that Dickie rolls his eyes. A strange warm feeling settles in Bruce’s chest at the idea of Dickie finally feeling comfortable here.

After they finish, Bruce takes the Royce—he’s partial to that one too—and they set off. Dickie pouts from the backseat, having lost the fight to sit up front. They reach the school a precarious few minutes before the appointment, and Bruce hurries Dickie along to the headmistress’s office.

Even after all this time, he still feels nervous about it. Bruce takes in the roman architecture, the marble, the high arches, and frowns. He used to be here all the time after his parent’s death, insisting he was fine despite the fight he’d gotten into.

Drusilla Blankenship is the same as he remembers, a tall, thin woman built rather like a rod. Her features are severe, the thin press of her lips austere. Dickie slumps down in his seat at the sight of her before Bruce nudges him gently up. He stands, offering his hand.

“Mister Wayne,” she says coolly, dragging out his name. “Welcome back.”

“Thank you,” he says, a touch stilted. “I’m here to enroll Richard in the third grade.”

“I see,” she says, still disaffected. “His records?”

Bruce fumbles for a moment, pulling them out of his briefcase. He forces a calm, straightens his back, and let’s his expression go neutral. He slides the folder towards her. The corner of her mouth twitches and he takes it as a win.

Registration is quick, and before they know it, Bruce is taking Dickie to get fitted for his uniform, which is another thing for him to complain about.

“Uniforms are dumb,” he mutters after Bruce gives him a particularly dark look.

“If you have a problem with uniforms, then you’re not going to like the end of your training,” Bruce says, dangling his favorite carrot. As predicted, Dickie’s entire demeanor is different the whole time they’re at the tailor.

Nico Bisesi, the tailor—and an old friend of Bruce’s father—assures him the uniforms will sent over with plenty of time to spare. After, and because Bruce feels a little bad for the early start, he takes Dickie to get doughnuts at the best bakery in Gotham.

Arms laden with a few dozen assorted, they make their way back to the mansion.

“This is a onetime thing,” Bruce says, trying to be stern. “You can forget about doughnuts when we actually start your training.”

“Superhero’s don’t get doughnuts?” Dickie teases, a sly smile on ahis face. Bruce makes a face at the word. He hates it.

“Do I look like the Blur to you?” he asks sarcastically. “No powers. We’re just people doing what’s right.”

“People doing what’s right in cool costumes and cool weapons,” Dickie tacks on. “Plus, he’s the red-blue-blur.”

“Whatever,” Bruce grumbles. It’s no business of his what happens in Metropolis, but in this city, Meta’s are nothing but trouble.

Alfred makes a fuss about the doughnuts, but Bruce can tell he’s secretly pleased. Besides, it’s fun to have someone on his side when Alfred lectures. Selina’s more an agent of chaos, preferring to let the lecture turn into a diatribe.

After lunch, Bruce gives Dickie an hour, telling him to meet him in the study. Might as well show him how to actually get into the Cave, rather than having him break in. Either way, he needs to get his fingerprints in the recognition system.

Bruce goes through paperwork while he waits, scowling at the onslaught from work. This isn’t even current stuff, and it’s not like he’s doing real work, just signing his approval, but he likes to read each report before he actually signs off on it.

More than once he’s had to veto projects that are too off-message, things that aren’t transparent about what they want to research and produce. He’s not a child anymore and this is his company; the shareholders do not get to just do whatever they want in the name of getting rich.

“Bruce?” Dickie asks, peeking his head into the study. Bruce smiles, gesturing him in.

“Time to actually get your training started,” Bruce says. Dickie seems to light up and hurried over to join him. Bruce shows him how to get the door open, the sequence of piano keys to play. Dickie stumbles in the narrow corridor down to the cave, but Bruce takes his hand, leading him. At the real door, Bruce keys up the pad to take a new fingerprint.

“No more sneaking in here, or waiting for someone to let you in,” Bruce explains. “But I’ll be monitoring how often you come in here. You’re only in here when either Alfred or I let you down here, understand?”

“Completely,” he says happily, pressing his thumb to the sensor. It scans, lighting up green to signal completion. Bruce grins, guiding Dickie in. They set up his user for the computer, and Bruce shows him some basic commands. It’s pretty standard stuff, just some signal tracking. Bruce promises to let him try when he goes on patrol.

After that, he leads Dickie back up, showing him the emergency open and emergency locks. Bruce sends Dickie up to grab his swimming trunks.

“Was that it?” Dickie asks, confused. “Are we done for the day?”

“Not a chance,” Bruce says. “That was just the orientation.”

Outside in the back garden, Bruce waits by the pool, taking in the warmth of late august. He takes a seat at one of the deck chairs, setting up his watch to time. Alfred takes a cautious seat in the next chair, a frown on his face.

“You let him down there awfully quick,” Alfred points out.

“He needs incentive to keep working,” Bruce offers, shrugging. Thankfully, Dickie comes down, saving Bruce from the conversation.

“What now?” Dickie says, eyeing the pool. It occurs to Bruce then that he didn’t even ask if Dickie could swim. Is he qualified to teach a child how to swim? Is it difficult? Is there a technique—

“What? Am I supposed to swim laps?”

“Uh, yes,” Bruce says, shaking away the momentary panic. “I want to test your stamina.”

“How many do I have to do?”

“You go until I tell you stop,” Bruce says simply, getting ready to time. “Go!”

Dickie takes off like a shot, a rookie mistake. He’ll tire easily, get whiny when Bruce keeps pushing him. Eventually, he’ll just quit. Bruce is surprised to find the thought makes him a little sad.

Predictably, Dickie only last a few laps, clinging to the wall and gasping.

“Am I done?” he asks between breaths. Alfred jumps up to get him a towel, but Bruce shakes his head.

“Not yet,” he says, waiting to see if Dickie will argue. His face screws up, eyebrows knot, but surprisingly, Dickie nods his head.

“A little slower,” Bruce says. “You need a pace you can maintain. I’m timing how long you can go, not how fast you are.”

“Okay,” Dickie says, expression serious. He takes a deep breath and bobs back in. Bruce restarts the timer, watching him go, pride filling him completely. It makes him stand a little taller.

“Don’t push him too hard,” Alfred says. “Not like I pushed you.” His eyes are startling sad, and Bruce flounders a little. He thought Alfred was proud of him, his training and what he could do as Batman. He smiles a little sadly.

“Don’t forget to give him his childhood,” Alfred clarifies, like he can read Bruce’s mind. “That’s one thing I didn’t guard fiercely enough for you.” Bruce doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just nods. Alfred seems satisfied with that, and heads in to start on dinner.

After the thirtieth lap, Bruce stops him, helping him out of the pool. He wraps the towel around dickie’s shoulders and sits him down on the deck chair.

“How did I do?” Dickie asks, enthusiastic despite his clear exhaustion. Bruce shows him the time, shaking his hand.

“I noticed you didn’t argue with me,” Bruce says as they walk inside, once Dickie’s dry enough not to drip.

“You said all I had to do for you to train me was listen,” Dickie says. “I’m good at listening. And training. I used to train a lot when… um, before.”

Bruce understands, and his heart breaks for the boy, trying to figure out this new chapter in his life. Bruce cups the back of neck, squeezing gently.

“What do you think about joining a gymnastics team?” he offers. “We’ll make it part of your training.”

“Really?” Dickie asks, grinning wide. “Yeah, that sounds so cool!” Bruce winks at him, sending him on his way to get ready for dinner.

After dinner, Bruce takes Dickie to his room, set on enforcing his bedtime now that school’s looming. He helps Dickie into bed, tucking him in after he’s done getting ready for bed.

“Bruce?”

“Yeah?”

“You… won’t forget about Tony Zucco, will you? You’ll get him, right?” Bruce takes a seat on the bed next to him, looking him dead in the eyes.

“I swear to you I will bring him to justice,” Bruce says, the sincerity of the promise pressing heavy on his shoulders. “Tony Zucco will rot in a jail cell for the rest of his life because of what he did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peep the Nolan!Verse reference! Let me know what you thought, and see you next week


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next few months are strange. Bruce learns to add “guardian” to his official list of priorities. He sends his secretary to PTA meetings, writes checks to the school, and concocts a list of Dickie’s needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey gang! Things are starting to heat up, hope you enjoy!

The next few months are strange. Bruce learns to add “guardian” to his official list of priorities. He sends his secretary to PTA meetings, writes checks to the school, and concocts a list of Dickie’s needs.

Food: three square meals a day, courtesy of Alfred. Plus snacks. Dickie eats more than any other child he’s ever met, including Selina, who used to eat like she was afraid each meal might be her last.

School: homework is checked and grades are monitored. If Dickie slips below a B average in any of his classes—though there’s not much work happening in third grade—Dickie loses a week of training to catch up with his studies. So far, it’s only happened once.

Sleep: 9 hours of sleep a night. Bruce has done the calculations himself based on many children’s sleep studies. This is an optimal number for a child Dickie’s age. Bruce makes sure he’s in his bed with the lights out at nine on the dot every night.

All in all, Bruce think’s it going well.

He’d expected it to be difficult, for Dickie to rebel and lash out, but he doesn’t. He just does whatever inane tasks Bruce sets before him. Bruce also hadn’t expected it to be fun, but Dickie keeps it interesting. For one, he’s much smarter and funnier than Bruce gave him credit for.

Dickie lets quips and bad jokes fly while they spar, a complete juxtaposition to how he fights. He’s won a fair few fights just by simply breaking Bruce’s concentration.

Around Christmas time, things seem to slow down a little. The board takes a break from mid-December till the first week of January. Crime seems to slow a little, too. Bruce chalks that up to cold weather.

Currently, he’s sitting in the parlor with Dickie, working through some reports for work, going through the year in review. Dickie’s got one of his old detective paperbacks, reading upside down on the couch. It makes Bruce smile, and it reminds him a little of Selina, and her complete regard for the no-feet-on-fine-furniture-rule. God, he hasn’t seen her in months. He hopes she’s alright—not that he doesn’t know she’s physically fine; he’s been keeping tabs on her. 

“Are you going to come to my meet?” Dickie asks suddenly, jolting him from his reverie. “It’s Saturday, at ten.”

“Have I missed a meet yet?” Bruce shoots back, quirking an eyebrow. Dickie’s part of the best gym in Gotham, and he’s the crowning glory of the intermediate children’s team. Bruce prides himself on the fact he’s been to all seven of the meets so far.

“Just checking,” Dickie says. He always does, and Bruce tries not to take it to heart. It’s just a trust thing. Bruce gets it. “I’m doing the uneven bars event.”

“That’s useful,” Bruce says, smiling wryly at him. “There are plenty of fire escapes all over town. I could think of a few moves that would help with.” Dickie’s eyes shine with excitement at the prospect of putting his skills to work.

“Winter break is coming up,” Dickie points out, changing topics. “My class is having a Christmas party.”

“Do you need Alfred to bake you something?” Bruce asks.

“Yeah, but parents are allowed to come too,” Dickie says. Abruptly, he blushes. “I guess you’re the closest I have.” Bruce’s heart does something weird at the word ‘parent’ but he ignores it.

“When’s the party?” he asks, keep his tone neutral and his face mildly curious.

“Last day of term,” he answers, scrambling to sit upright. “I have a flyer in my bag.”

“Go get it.” Dickie hurries off to grab it while Bruce double checks the date. He cringes when he sees the Wayne Trustee’s meeting on the same day. He could try and schedule that to a different day, but the trustee’s are particularly obstinate. They think a 24 year old has no business running a multi-billion dollar international company.

Dickie produces the flyer, pointing at the circled date and time. Shit. He’ll definitely have to miss one or the other. Dickie bounces on his toes, a slowly faltering smile on his face. Bruce’s heart clenches.

“I’ll be there, but I’m not baking anything myself.”

“B, I don’t think you could bake anything if you tried.”

*

The trustee’s are, understandably, furious. His secretary is inches away from quitting.

*

The day of the party, Bruce loads a tray of iced gingerbread cookies into his plain black beemer. It’s a little more inconspicuous.

Surprisingly, Bruce is one of six parents in the room, finding himself in the company of a few personal secretaries, nannies, and strung out homemakers. The only person to talk to is, to his surprise, Jim Gordon.

“Bruce,” he says genial, waving a cupcake in his direction. Bruce sets the platter down, nods once to Dickie’s teacher, and makes his way over.

“Commissioner,” he return with a slight smile. “I didn’t know your daughter went here.”

“Oh, yeah, she got in on a scholarship,” he explains. “They hold those entrance exams every couple months. How’s, uh, the kid? Still trouble?”

Bruce bristles at that instantly. The truth is, if Bruce didn’t have such an enticing carrot, Dickie would be trouble. He’s ruled by his emotions, and while that’s fine in real life, Bruce is going to have to teach him to compartmentalize.

“Dickie’s doing great. Top of the class.” At this, Jim’s eyebrows go up.

“Really?” he asks with a laugh. “Good for him! I never realized, he was the same kid Babs always complains about.”

“Oh?”

“Oh, yeah, they’ve got a little rivalry going,” Jim says, pointing them out. As it is, Dickie is surreptitiously trying to smear icing all over her face. Oh. He understands.

“I see,” Bruce says with a chuckle. “I’m sure they’ll be good friends.” Jim frowns a little at that, but lets it go. It’s then that Dickie notice’s him. His eyes light up and he hurries over.

“You came!”

“I told you I would.” Dickie looks at Jim, recognition flaring and he blushes.

“Hi, Commissioner Gordon,” he intones.

“Hey, kid, staying out of trouble?” Jim asks him kindly. Dickie nods. “Good to hear. I better not find you at my police station again.”

“Yes sir,” Dickie says, a little nervously. Suddenly, and rather inexplicably, Bruce wishes he had the armor on. Jim wouldn’t talk to his boy like this if he did. That thought startles him and he pushes it away. Just cop humor.

“Go on, Dickie, go back to your friends,” he instructs. He can’t quite keep his voice as even as it should be, but Jim doesn’t notice. Dickie, however, does, quirking an eyebrow. He’s in no mood to explain.

After that, the party goes fine. The children are allowed to pack boxes of left over goodies to take back. Bruce is more than a little proud to be taking back his empty tray. Alfred will be pleased. He escorts Dickie out to the car, holding his backpack.

“So, Barbara Gordon, huh?” he teases. Predictably, Dickie goes bright red.

“She’s just a girl in my class,” he mutters.

“Just a girl? I don’t think she’d like to hear that,” Bruce presses on, opening the car. Dickie slides into the front seat before Bruce can argue about it.

“Where’s Selina?” Dickie challenges. “Haven’t seen her in a long time.”

“Selina’s busy,” he mutters.

“At least I talk to Babs every day.”

Bruce cannot believe he’s being bested by a child.

*

That night, after Bruce gets back from patrol, he decides to bite the bullet, pride be damned. He calls Selina up, worriedly eyeing the time. She picks up on the fourth ring.

“What?”

“Hey, it’s me,” Bruce says, cringing at his own awkwardness.

“I have caller ID.”

“What are you doing right now?”

“What, are you calling for a booty call?”

“Not really.”

“Is someone dying?”

“No.”

“Then what do you want?”

“To talk,” he admits, flushing despite himself. “We left things in a bad place, and it’s Christmas soon, and I’ve had your gift picked out for a while—“

“You bought me a present already?”

“Why don’t you come by and find out?”

“Okay, so this is definitely a booty call.” Bruce can hear the teasing smile she’s got on. He’s not going to sputter like an idiot, and besides, he’s missed her.

“If you like.”

“That was bold,” she says, but Bruce can hear the barely there hitch in her voice. He has her.

“Should I send a car or should I just leave a window open?”

“It’s more of a challenge if you leave them shut.” With that, she hangs up the phone and Bruce nearly crows in victory.

*

God, he missed her.

*

After they’re sated, they lie together, Selina’s head on his chest and his fingers carding through her shorn hair.

“When did you get a haircut?” he asks softly. It’s a longer pixie cut, just a touch longer than Dickie’s hair.

“Mhm, it gets caught in the hood in the goggles, so I got the big chop.” She snuggles closer, brushing a kiss against his sternum.

“Looks good,” he says. He means it too. He can see her face much more clearly now that she can’t hide behind the mane of curls. “We should sleep soon. Dickie’s got a meet in the morning.”

“No round two?” she teases.

“I don’t want to be a zombie tomorrow,” he tells her wryly. “Dickie would probably kill me. He likes an enthusiastic audience, so you’re going to have to show a little tomorrow.”

“What, skin?” she asks mock-innocently.

“Enthusiasm,” Bruce corrects, rolling his eyes. Selina looks at him, a frown marring her face.

“I probably shouldn’t go,” she says slowly. Bruce simply stares at her, uncomprehending.

“What? Of course you should. It’s Dickie’s first time on a new event—“

“I mean, I just sounds sort of like a family thing, and you might be his father figure, I don’t really fit in,” she explains.

“Well, we’ll just ask him in the morning,” Bruce reasons as soothingly as he can. Now that Selina’s back, he’ll be damned if he loses her again. Besides, Dickie likes her already.

The next morning, Bruce catches her trying to leave through the open window. Surprised, and a little hurt, he implores her to join them for breakfast at least. She didn’t even try to take anything.

“Good to see you back, Ms. Kyle,” Alfred says, sliding over her cup of coffee. Bruce wrinkles his nose; it’s basically just sugar and milk with coffee to garnish it. He likes his plain.

“Selina!” Dickie crows. “When did you get here? Are you going to come to my meet? Are you going to train with us?”

Selina gives Bruce a sharp look, but he ignores it, digging into his omelet like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

“I guess I could swing by the meet,” she says slowly, though she can’t hold her frown. Dickie’s most effective tool is his inherent charm. Bruce finds it hard to believe that anyone could just not like him. Selina scoffs, laughing at herself for relenting.

“So, are you guys back together or what?” Dickie asks through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. Selina wrinkles her nose.

“Close your mouth, birdie,” she says. Dickie’s smiles slips off his face and he looks forlorn. “What? What did I say?”

“My mom used to talk like that,” Dick explains. He frowns, worrying his lip. “She used to call me Robin because I was a flyer.”

Selina and Bruce exchange looks, both uncomfortable and completely out of their depths. Dickie shakes his head, trying for a smile, but it comes out a little mangled. They don’t talk about anything other than the meet for the rest of the morning.

Selina rides with them to the gym, even sits in the family section to watch Dickie. He’s incredibly talents, grace and agility pouring off his every move. He may look small, but Bruce knows firsthand just how strong he is. His routine is a complicated series of flips and jumps, spanning the two bars. Dickie moves with ease, completely at home flying through the air.

“He’s good,” Selina murmurs. “So, this is his day gig? I didn’t notice any little rugrats trailing after Batman.”

“His day gig is school,” Bruce whispers back firmly. “And we’ll talk about the rest later.”

“Fine,” Selina says, cold. Bruce sighs. He’d been hoping she might take his side in the Dickie debate. Alfred hasn’t wavered once from his opinion, but he does appreciate Bruce letting Dickie just be a kid. Dickie finishes the routine with flourish, leaping down and landing perfectly. He shoots a wink to the audience and the crowd goes wild. Bruce is among them, on his feet and clapping hard.

After Dickie, they watch a few more kids before all the teams are called to do awards. Predictably, Dickie’s team places first.

“Did you see me?” Dickie asks as they make their way out of the gym. “I nailed it!”

“You did extremely well,” Bruce says, ceding the front seat so he can ride in the back with Selina.

“You did great, Kid,” Selina tells him, smiling sincerely.

“Seriously, mate, bloody fantastic!” Alfred say, clapping his shoulder. “So, what do we eat to celebrate?”

*

That night, Bruce sits at his study, trying to finish out his theory about the GMMA robberies. He’s nearly certain it’s the Zucco family running an art ring, smuggling priceless pieces out and sticking fakes in their place. Bruce scoffs; how they got into high end crime, Bruce will never know.

Selina’s expertise is priceless, and she effortless fills in his blanks. She knows just about everyone in the business and has zero qualms about selling anyone out. If he wasn’t so sure that the trust between them ran bone deep, he’d be terrified of her.

“They’re trying to move in on the west side,” she explains, pointing out the richer part of the island. “It’s kind of a vacuum right now.”

“I thought that was Valeska territory?” Bruce is one of the few people who know just who “Mr. J” is. He’s incredibly dangerous, but his moves are wickedly intelligent, which leaves him almost untouchable. Almost. Bruce has plans for that, but right now, he needs to focus.

“It’s no mans land right now,” Selina says. “Valeska and Penguin are duking it out right now, but everyone knows who’s going to win. The Zucco’s are the only ones stupid enough to try a power grab.”

Selina says, propping herself up on the edge of the desk.

“Speaking of the Zucco’s…”

“What about them?” Bruce knows what, but frankly, this isn’t the time for this conversation.

“Dickie’s under the impression that you’re going to sic him on them,” Selina says. Everything about her is casual, but Bruce knows she’s seething. He knows what she thinks about kids on the street, even the ones trying to do good. “Like a side kick.”

“I’m training him, yes,” Bruce says coolly.

“So, what? When are you going to let him out? When he gets his yellow belt in taekwondo?” The question is sharp, and he can just tell she’s not going to think this through rationally.

“I’ll let him out when he’s ready,” he says simply.

“Which is?” Irritation rises in his chest, but he forces a calm. She’s just scared for him, just worried about Dickie’s welfare.

“When he’s eighteen years old,” he confesses. He and Alfred try not to discuss it ever, in case Dickie’s lurking around somewhere—he’s got a penchant for stealth—but they need to have this conversation. Besides, Dickie should be asleep by now, it’s nearing ten o’clock.

“He’s cool with that?”

“He doesn’t know,” Bruce confesses. At this, Selina lets out a humorless laugh.

“So, you’re lying to him?” She pushes off the desk, stalking towards him, and momentarily, Bruce is distracted by the elegant sway of her hips before he forces himself to focus.

“If he knows, then all he’s going to do is get reckless. He’ll be hard to protect,” he explains.

“Hard to control,” Selina mutters. Her lips pull down in a tight frown. “I mean, he already knows.”

“Exactly,” Bruce says, leaping at the chance to convince her. “And the Zucco’s are still at large. All he’s going to do is run and try to prove himself.”

“I guess…” She presses her lips in a tight line. For a moment, they’re both silent, but then suddenly, Selina’s head whips up.

“What?” Bruce asks, a little panicked.

“I thought I heard something,” she murmurs, near silent. Bruce still’s too, listening, but he can’t hear anything.

“Anyways,” she says, shaking her head.

“It’s the best way to keep Dickie occupied,” Bruce explains, trying to drive home his point. “Once he’s eighteen, he can make his own choices, and I can’t stop him, but the best way to keep him under control is to let him think ‘ready’ comes before eighteen.”

“Batman,” Selina announces wryly. “Master manipulator of children.”

“Don’t be cruel,” Bruce tells her sharply. “Are you coming to help with this art ring, or not?”

“I already told you I was,” Selina says sourly. Then, her head whips up again. “It’s that noise again.”

“I didn’t hear anything,” Bruce insists, but Selina shakes her head.

“You’ve got shitty ears,” she mutters. “Never mind, maybe you’ve got rats or something.”

“Come on, we should head out.” Selina follows him down to the cave, but her suspicious frown doesn’t leave her face.

They head out, driving straight to the west side of the island. Bruce sends the car to hide and he and Selina take to the rooftops, dividing to run a perimeter. North of them are the docks, and south of them is Gotham’s nightclub scene. It truly is no mans land between the gangs.

Bruce switches to thermal vision, cataloguing the crew amassing at one of the warehouses by the docks. Nine of them, so far, all lower level. Easily expendable. Bruce swears softly, sure that none of them will point them in the direction of the Zucco hide out, even if he did ask nicely.

“Incoming call: Alfred Pennyworth,” his comms intone. Bruce sighs, accepting it.

“Alfred? It looks like a bust—“

“Where’s Dickie?” he interrupts, panicked. “Tell me you didn’t take him out with you!”

“What?” Bruce stutters. “He’s not home?” Panic begins to mount and no amount of breathing deeply is going to make him feel better.

“I checked on him twenty minutes ago,” Alfred says in a rush. “His bed was empty, his drawers were all open, and his window was open. He’s gone!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, we are in trouble now, kids! Also a quick note: I'm planning maybe one or two more chapters after this. Every fic in this series is going to be about the rise of each sidekick. I might do random one-shots as they occur to me, just snapshots of their lives and the different mantles they pick up, so stay tuned! Let me know that you thought!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adults are the worst and Dickie is an idiot. The only good grownups were his mom and dad, and now they’re gone, and the people who took them away just get to run around like nothing’s wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I’m really sorry about the lateness, but it’s up! This was a hard one for me to write, just because I really struggle with actions scenes. Still, hope you enjoy!

Adults are the worst and Dickie is an idiot. The only good grownups were his mom and dad, and now they’re gone, and the people who took them away just get to run around like nothing’s wrong.

He’s been super patient. He’s done every task, every training, and he’s even taken down B a few times. If he can take down Batman, he can take out the Zucco’s.

Dickie didn’t know what he’d expected when he went in to spy on B and Selina, maybe more stuff on their case with the Zucco’s. That had to be why B brought Selina in, to help out more. Plus he’s got a crush on her, Dickie guesses. Do grownups get crushes?

What he hadn’t expected to hear was that everything, all his training, all the work he put in, all his trust, was just a massive lie. B was just going to make him train forever, and then, when B couldn’t stop him anymore, he’d let Dickie make a choice.

Anger courses through him like nothing he’s ever felt in his whole life. His parents are dead, and B just expects him to sit like a good boy while Tony Zucco—a murderer—gets to go free. Dickie shakes with rage, clenching his teeth so hard his jaw hurts.

He’ll show them just what he can do, just how strong he is. He found Tony Zucco once before and he can do it again. Plus, he knows how to get on the Batcave mainframe. Dickie downloaded it to the computer in his room weeks ago, not that B knows.

He logs onto the database, bypassing the main security line. It’s not hard, any dummy can do it. Babs showed him how to do this when she taught him how to get around the school’s website restrictions so they could play actually good games during computer lab.

The Zucco files have been recently updates, but it’s all just lame stuff, about art being stolen or whatever. Dickie grits his teeth; none of this is important! Still, he can probably use this to figure where Tony Zucco will be tonight.

He pulls out his maps and works through the file, pinpointing him in the islands’ club scene. Dickie will get him there, when he’s too drunk and stupid to fight back.

He needs armor, like B has, in case anything happens, or at the very least, protect his identity. He needs a mask so no one will know it’s him. Dickie shuts down the system carefully, backtracking to delete his history out. He’s logged in as B anyways, so it shouldn’t matter, but he keeps track of the weirdest things.

Dickie roots around his room, looking for anything that might help. He doesn’t have sturdy boots, but he does have his rainboots. They’re made of pretty heavy rubber, so Dickie thinks they’ll come in handy. He pulls on a pair black long johns over top of his heavy pajama pants.

Next, he puts on a long sleeve black shirt. Dickie looks outside, where it’s just starting to snow. He needs something else. He hurries to the closet and fishes out his red puffer vest. It’s a dark, brick red, which will still be visible, but it’s the darkest jacket he has.

As he’s digging around, he unearths his paint markers. B wears a bat on his uniform, and Dickie’s about to paint one on the jacket, but he stops. He’s not B, and he definitely doesn’t want to be on his team right now.

He needs a name, one just for him. Something with a D? Dickie worries his lip and suddenly, a memory of his mother crops up.

_“That’s my little bird!” Mom calls as Dickie turns another perfect flip. “Look at you go, just like a little Robin.”_

Robin. Because he’s a flyer. Because they’ll never think a little bird can take out the bad guys.

Dickie paint an “R” on the front of his jacket and pulls it on. All he needs now is a mask. He roots around, finding the box of his stuff from Haly’s Circus. He hasn’t even opened this box since coming here, but he has to. For his parents. He’s going to drag Tony Zucco to jail himself.

He rips open the box, forcing himself not to look at the pictures or the posters. He bypasses his unitard and grabs the accompanying mask. It’s kind of bright, but it’s big enough that most of his face will be covered, plus he can still see out of it.

Suited up, Dickie forces his window open and peers down. If he drops straight down, he’ll probably break something, but there’s a tree maybe ten or so feet away. If he makes that leap, then he can just shimmy down. The real trick is getting to the main city.

The cave!

Dickie dashes out of his room, forcing himself to be quiet. Bruce and Selina are still busy right now, he can hear them talking in his office. Dickie waits for the sound of the door swinging open and steals in after them. He’s pretty good at sneaking around. B and Alfred still think he goes to bed at 9 every night.

Thankfully, B and Selina are distracted by each other. Really, Selina’s the threat. She’s got better ears than B. Dickie’s got his suspicions for who she is and what she does, but she’s really nice so he lets it go. Plus, B trusts her.

They’re arguing so they don’t even notice Dickie slip into the trunk of the car. He and B did a trunk test just a few weeks ago, in case some bad guy bundled him up and tossed him in the trunk of a car. Dickie bets B never thought he’d use his own tricks on him.

They ride out for a while and then the car stops. Dickie figures he has a few minutes before B sends the car back. He can hear them stepping out, hear the soft slam of the car door, and then, to Dickie’s horror, the car starts moving again.

He forces himself not to panic, but they never talked about how to get out of a moving car! Dickie squirms around, trying to find something in the dark to help him. Something long and thin grazes again him and he grabs it. Good! He can use this to jimmy open the trunk.

Dickie grits his teeth, and forces the trunk open. Suddenly, he’s free and the car is moving much faster than he thought they were. Dickie looks around, trying to find something soft to land in.

There!

There’s a pile of garbage straight ahead. Grasping the tire iron, Dickie stands, ready to jump. He times it best he can, then shuts his eyes, leaping out. He lands hard, half in the pile, half on the pavement. For a moment, Dickie just lays there, groaning as pain blooms all over his body.

He forces himself up, shaking out his body. He huffs, trying to orient himself. This looks like a back alley of some club, but how is he supposed to know what club Zucco will be at? He needs a better view. There’s a fire escape about six or seven feet up, pulled shut, but if Dickie can get up there, he can swing up on the roof.

He shoves the tire iron in his vest and takes a breath, scanning around. He can vault off the dumpster and flip onto the fire escape. From there, he can just climb the drain pipe up. Dickie gets a running start, suddenly glad for the gymnastics training.

Vaulting up is simple, and he lands nearly silently on the fire escape. For a second, he marvels at the fact that he actually made it up, grinning to himself.

The drainpipe is another story.

It’s an upper body strength thing, and while he’s good at throwing his weight around, hauling it straight up is not easy. Still, he makes his way onto the roof of the club, taking a moment to catch his breath. From here, he can see a lot actually, and it’s easy to hide. Tony Zucco will never see him coming.

It’s kind of boring just waiting, but finally some guys spill out of one of the club doors. Dickie recognizes them instantly. They’re some of the goons that work for the Zucco family. Dickie follows them by rooftop, launching himself across the narrow gaps. This side of island si compact, all the buildings pressed together. It’s not as bad as the Narrows themselves, but it makes it easy for Dickie.

They end up going into some warehouse on the other side of the street, dockside, and Dickie swears. How is he supposed to get over there?

Just then, a car passes by on the bridge overhead, and Dickie has his answer. Scaling the bridge is… tough, and Dickie won’t ever admit this, but it’s terrifying. It’s not like being op on the ropes, or the trapeze. Dickie knows there’s no net below him, no silks to catch himself on.

There’s a gap of about fifteen feet from the bridge and the roof of the warehouse, and Dickie starts swinging, building up momentum. This is the last hard part. All he has to do is make it across and then he can give Zucco exactly what he deserves.

Cars pass by on the bridge, shaking it a little, but Dickie holds tight. He will not fall. He sucks in a breath, takes a final swing, and on the highest part of the arc, lets go, forcing his weight and momentum forward.

For a second, he’s weightless, and it feels a lot like swinging off the silks, but then, Dickie realizes he won’t make it, that his body is pulling him down. He gasps, a scream starting to build in his throat as his arc ends. He shuts his eyes.

He’s falling—

There’s a sharp pain on his middle and it yanks him up and across. The next thing he knows, he’s landing with a thud on the hard concrete of the, something constricting him. He struggles, forcing his eyes open.

“Well, that was dumb.”

It’s Selina, dressed in Catwoman’s suit. He knew it! He knew she was Catwoman! Besides her stands Batman, and the euphoria of figuring out her secret dies down. Selina pulls her whip back, easing the pressure on his middle.

“Can you stand?” Batman asks sharply. Dickie scurries to his feet. It’s so strange to think that Bruce is under there, especially now.

“Before you get mad—”

“Do. Not.” Dickie shrinks back from the anger in his voice, and for the first time, he’s scared of Bruce.

“Easy, Bats,” Selina says. “You okay? All your ribs still in one piece?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles.

“Would you like to explain just what the fuck you were doing out here?” Batman asks, a little more controlled. Dickie’s stunned at the curse, and suddenly his anger rises over his fear and he stands a little taller.

“I was tracking Tony Zucco.”

“Is that right?”

“Somebody had to,” he says, voice mean. “Since Batman won’t.” For a second Batman falters, but then he shakes his head, taking a deliberate step towards him.

“Dickie, you have no idea—”

“It’s been seven months, three weeks, and four days since my parents died,” he snarls, anger taking over completely. “For almost eight months, Zucco’s been wandering free!”

“I’m trying—”

“You’re not trying hard enough!”

“Okay, stop!” Selina says, stepping in between them. Dickie grips his tire iron, breathing hard. “Dickie what do you think we’re doing tonight? We need solid proof, and if we do this right, the entire family crumbles.”

“But—” Dickie falters, unsure of what to say. If the entire family crumbles then Tony Zucco will definitely be in jail, but that might take too long and he’s probably down there—

“None of the brothers or sons are down there,” Batman says, answering the unasked question.

“So, this was all for nothing?”

“No, Dickie, of course not,” he says, softer now, more like Bruce. “Listen, I’m getting the car back and we’ll send you home—”

“No!” Dickie screams, anger ripping his control to shreds. “I’m not going back and the only way you can make me is if you break my legs!”

“Richard Grayson, superhero’s do not throw tantrums,” Batman hisses. Dickie fumes. He hasn’t been called his full name in a while.

“I thought you said we weren’t superhero’s—”

“What happened to doing things my way? That’s what you agreed to,” he reminds him.

“You lied to me,” Dickie says, voice suddenly thick. He will not cry, he’s too big to cry.

“I did that to protect you,” Batman says. “Dickie please listen to me—”

“Shut up!” Selina hisses, dropping into a crouch, hand on her whip. “You idiots, they could probably hear you through roof!”

“Stay close to me,” Batman hisses. Dickie drops to a crouch just under his cape, waiting. Selina prowls forwards, watching. Suddenly, a few of the goons leap into action and it becomes a full out brawl.

Dickie follows Bruce, watching his moves and filling in his blind spots. It’s actually a lot likes sparring, but the bad guys are a lot worse than Bruce is. Dickie lets quips and taunts fly, using the goons as vaults and flying around, slamming into peoples faces with the soles of his heavy boots.

He and B are good together, matching each other and making up for their weaknesses. B is strong but Dickie’s fast, and together, they move better than Dickie ever imagined.

They manage to drop them, and Batman grabs Dickie around the middle and throws him over his shoulder as he leaps.

The warehouse is a mess, a turf war in the making and Dickie is hot on Batman’s heels. He fights with everything he has, vaulting around and using his shoes as a weapon as he swings the tire iron around. Selina is deadly with her whip and her claws, and Batman is Batman. Dickie likes to think he keeps up with them pretty well.

A car arrives and the Zucco’s pour out, the brothers and the sons and Dickie spots Tony. He rushes him, all technique forgotten.

“What the hell is a kid doing here?” someone shouts, and a flurry of bataarangs fly, finding their marks in the soft parts of goons. Dickie has a clear shot and he swings, slamming the tire iron into Tony Zucco’s unsuspecting middle.

He screams, staggering back, and grabs Dickie by the vest. He struggles against the grip, but Zucco’s stronger than him and shakes him hard. It feels like Dickie’s brain is rattling around in his skull and he drops the tire iron.

Dazed, Dickie barely notices when he’s dragged outside. The night air is cool, and the dank breeze from the harbor quickly wakes him up. Dickie wrinkles his nose at the smell.

“You’re that piece of shit kid that attacked me,” Zucco says, shaking Dickie out. “Say your prayers, ya little rugrat.” With that, Dickie’s tossed bodily into the harbor, but before he can hit the harbor, something snags his wrist and pulls him up sharply. Dickie howls at the pain in his wrist, landing in a heap on the dock.

“Hold on, kid, you’ll be okay,” Selina promises him, leaning over him. Dickie grits his teeth to stop from crying, but tears slip down his face either way. “I’m so sorry, but it was the only way we’d reach you in time.”

Sirens fill the air, and Batman slams Tony Zucco into the dock, driving his foot into him over and over.

“You got him, Bats,” Selina says. It seems to jolt him out of his trance and he stills. 

“Get Dickie home,” he says. “The car is on it’s way. I’ll deal with the police.”

Dickie doesn’t protest, weakly stumbling after Selina. His wrist throbs, but he doesn’t dare open his mouth. He knows he’ll scream if he does.

“Shit, kid,” Selina says, helping him into the car as soon as it finds them. “The balls on you.” Her gaze softens under her goggles. “Just hold on a little longer, okay? Then Alfred will take care of you.”

Dickie clamps his mouth shut and curls in on himself. The world starts to slip away, and the next thing he knows, he’s lying on a table in the Batcave, Alfred examining his wrist.

“Master Dickie, you alright?” he asks, voice kind. He helps him sit up. His wrist is in a brace, holding tight. The pain has faded back to a dull throb.

“Yeah,” he says tiredly.

“Good,” Alfred says, suddenly sharp. “You are in a world of trouble, young man.”

“Aw come on,” he mumbles. Of course, Alfred ignores him entirely and goes on and on about how irresponsible that was, how scared he was, how many different ways Dickie could have died. This goes on for almost thirty minutes until Bruce comes back, and then another fifteen minutes is spent where Alfred screams himself hoarse at the both of them.

Red in the face and fuming, Alfred stomps out of the cave.

Well,” Bruce says, pulling off his cowl and shaking his hair out. “That was stupid.”

“I already got yelled at,” Dickie points out sullenly.

“So did I,” Bruce tells him. His face is almost mad, but Dickie can see the twinkle in his eye. “You were good out there.”

“Really?” Dickie sputters blindsided by the compliment.

“You’re talented,” Bruce says with a shrug. “I already knew that.” Dickie stares at him, stunned.

“Forbidding you from coming out or training isn’t going to stop you, is it?” B asks casually, like he was asking about school or gymnastics.

“No,” Dickie tells him bluntly. “I want to help, and I’m good.”

“I’ll have to figure things out with Alfred.”

“You’re going to let me come out with you?”

B doesn’t answer, instead helping him down and guiding him to his room. There, he helps Dickie out of his cobbled-together uniform and into a fresh pair of pajama’s. He tucks Dickie in, careful around his wrist.

“B?” Dickie whispers. “You never answered my question.”

“Not all at once,” B says finally. “You can come patrolling with me once a week for now, and we’ll talk about the mission thing later.” Dickie sputters out his thanks, squirming out of his blankets to throw his arms around Bruce in a tight hug. Bruce hugs back tight, rubbing Dickie’s back.

“You’re still in a world of trouble,” he says with a smile, tucking Dickie back in. “But it was nice to fight next to someone like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so the plan is one more chapter to tie everything together before I move onto the next section, though I think I might take a break for a bit. Let me know what you thought!!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first thing Bruce does is call Lucius Fox.  
> “I already saw in the papers,” he says tartly, picking up on the first ring. “A kid, Bruce?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I know that this is late, so sorry about that. This is the last chapter, closing the book on Dick’s rise to Robin. Catch me in the end notes for the sappy shit, but for now, enjoy!

The first thing Bruce does is call Lucius Fox.

“I already saw in the papers,” he says tartly, picking up on the first ring. “A kid, Bruce?”

“So, you’ll help me?” Bruce asks, bypassing his statement. There’s a pause, probably Lucius torn between wanting to delve into another challenge and his hang ups on Dickie’s age. It’s not like Dickie’s doing this alone.

“Get me his measurements,” Lucius says dejectedly. “Same as you?”

“No, something a little more… did you see the picture in the news?” Bruce had discovered the article on Batman’s newest apprentice this morning when Alfred had chucked the newspaper at him, effectively scaring Selina out of a morning dalliance. There was a huge—albeit blurry—picture of he and Dickie in full color. Honestly, it wasn’t half bad. Bruce might have it framed.

“Red, yellow, and green?” Lucius ask in disbelief.

“Darker than he wore, but yeah,” Bruce says. “So I don’t lose track of him.”

“So the people you’re fighting notice the bright colors first before the bat,” Lucius contradicts Bruce.

“You’re making it sound sinister,” Bruce complains. He can understand the reluctance, but the truth is that Lucius just hasn’t met Dickie yet. One you surrender to the fact that Dickie cannot and will not be controlled, he’s actually fun to be around.

“When do you want it?”

“Whenever you can,” Bruce says, trying to keep the smile out of his voice. “Tell me when It’s ready and I’ll bring him in to meet you.”

“Looking forward to it,” Lucius mutters sarcastically, hanging up the phone. Bruce rolls his eyes. It’s not like he’s committing a heinous crime.

Downstairs, Dickie is watching the TV in the kitchens, clumsily eating cereal. He and Alfred are both watching the Zucco trial. Bruce pours himself a cup of coffee to watch with them. He’d personally delivered a lot of incriminating evidence to Jim Gordon himself, so there is no way they’ll be free. As predicted, Tony and his brothers are sentenced to life in Blackgate.

“I have a surprise for you,” Bruce tells Dickie, poking his shoulder to get his attention.

“You’re really not mad at me?” he asks, incredulous.

“Nope,” Bruce says easily. “I’ve entirely given up. You’ll come out with me, but you’ll do it when I say so, and how I say so. This time, if you don’t listen to me, I’m taking away the surprise.”

“What is the surprise,” Dickie says cautiously.

“You’ll see,” Bruce says. “Besides, you’re not coming out with your wrist like that.”

“But B—“

“Take it up with Alfred.” At this Dickie falls silent, pouting into his cereal. Bruce chuckles, ruffling his hair.

*

Bruce and Alfred have words.

They are screamed, hissed, and spat out, but they are had and in the end, Alfred agrees. There’s no way to cage Dickie in, so the best way to handle this is to let him join and keep a careful eye on him.

“If anything happens to that boy,” Alfred says finally. “It’s on your head.”

“I know,” Bruce says. “I’m not going to let anything happen to Dickie.”

*

While Dickie heals, Bruce trains him to use just one hand, works him harder than before. He teaches him to hack, to build viruses and firewalls, everything that Bruce knows. He learns fast, eager for more. When he finally gets his brace off, Bruce really teaches him how to spar.

Lucius Fox gives Bruce a call back in late February, telling him he can bring the kid in. Bruce is buzzing with excitement, something he hasn’t felt in a while. Bruce tells Alfred that he’ll pick Dickie up from school, and that they might be a little late.

Outside the school, Dickie lights up with excitement at the sight of Bruce, racing down the steps to meet him. Bruce grins, opening his arms to let Dickie slam into him in a tight hug.

“It came?” Dickie asks eagerly. While he doesn’t know exactly what it is, Dickie’s been practicing his deductive skills on the surprise. Frankly, it’s been good practice for Bruce too.

“You’ll see,” he says enigmatically, getting the door for him. Dickie all but bounces in his seat, grinning ear to ear.

They drive to the R&D outpost, where Lucius works on the Batman things. Publicly, he’s been annexed from the company, but privately, Lucius makes the most of any WE employee. It’s a bit of a drive, so they stop, and Dickie runs out to get them sandwiches from Selina’s favorite deli.

The assistant balks at the sight of Bruce, sputtering and directing them in. He refrains from rolling his eyes; he’s always hated people who heaped importance on his name.

“Well, this must be the boy in question,” Lucius says, coming out to meet them. “I’m Lucius, and you are?” Bruce gently nudges Dickie forward.

“Richard Grayson, sir,” he says. Bruce school his expression into one of neutrality, trying not to laugh. “But just Dickie’s fine.”

“And how old are you?”

“I’ll be nine in three weeks, sir,” he says, standing a little taller. Lucius gives Bruce a look at that but leads them back regardless.

“It’s made from the same lightweight Kevlar, obviously, but the trouble was dying the thing,” Lucius explains. “I copied as much from the article, especially the logo, but I did have to ask, why the R instead of the Bat?”

“I’m getting a suit!” Dickie crows, bouncing on his heels.

“You didn’t tell him?”

“It was a surprise,” Bruce explains, unable to help the light blush that overtakes his face. He’d taken Dickie to get a suit for the WE annual Christmas party and had used those measurements for the suit. It had been the only thing he could think of to get his measurements without Dickie noticing something.

Lucius chuckles at that, hitting a button on the wall pad to unveil the suit. It’s nice, fitted to the mannequin but not clingy, giving him room to grow. It’s mostly black, with a red armor pieces and yellow fastenings. The boots are dark green, sturdy looking. The yellow R is bright on the chest, just like Dickie had drawn it himself.

“That’s mine?” Dickie asks, awed.

“Well, let’s try it on,” Lucius suggest. For the next hour, they make adjustments, teach Dickie how to use the special features, and show him his weapon of choice.

Bruce picked the bo staff because he knew Dickie would be great with it. He can fight with it, leverage his weight with it, and even hurl it if he needs to. Dickie moves effortlessly with, a wicked grin on his face. Bruce just knows he’s going to be a serious threat to Gotham’s underworld when he’s bigger. Even now, probably.

Prides surges through Bruce as he watches. Lucius quirks an eyebrow at Bruce, clearly impressed. No one escapes Dickie’s charms, not once he gets his baby blues on them.

“The armor pieces are a little more… well, armored than in the original suit, especially the chest plate,” Lucius says. “Dickie, you’ll have to build up your stamina before you can really open up.”

“Yay,” Dickie says monotonously. “More training before I’m allowed out. Lucius frowns sharply at him.

“Richard, do I look like a toymaker to you?” he asks him. Bruce has been on the receiving end of this talk one too many times, but he won’t intervene. It’s important that Dickie hears this.

“No, sir,” he says, pulling back the sass considerably.

“I do not make toys,” Lucius continues. “I make tools and weapons. This is a very serious task you’re undertaking, do you understand?”

“I know, sir,” Dickie says eagerly. “Sometimes the judges, lawyers, and cops can be bad, so it’s up to us to make sure the bad guys get put away. We have to protect the good people.”

“Don’t you ever forget that,” Lucius tells him. “You don’t this because you can, because you have the ability. You do this because there are good people who don’t.”

“I understand, sir,” Dickie says, solemn. He looks much older than he really is, and suddenly, Bruce’s heart breaks. Is he wrong? Has he condemned Dickie? “Me and B can do this.”

“Yeah,” Bruce says roughly.

*

Bruce pushes Dickie harder than he has before now that he has the suit. They backslide a little, Dickie getting petulant where Bruce hardens up, but Dickie’s loyalty is fierce, and he does not waver, not once.

Bruce has never had loyalty like this.

Dickie’s ninth birthday comes up and Bruce pulls out all the stops. He’s never cared for parties before, but this one is important. It’s Dickie’s first one with him. They have every kid from his class over for what is basically a carnival. There are bounce houses, ball pits, arcade games, everything Bruce could think of.

Dickie had been utterly speechless when he’d seen, just gripped Bruce’s hand tight and looked up at him with shining eyes.

“Thanks, B,” He’d chocked out.

Dickie had fun, this was clear, though he spent most of his time with Babs. Bruce had navigated a set of Gotham’s most elite single and unfaithful mothers. They’d asked Selina to come too, but she’d balked at the idea of going to a kid’s party. Still, she’d promised to come to their family dinner.

That had been the true highlight of the evening, just the four of them, having Dickie’s favorite foods Selina had given him a set of gas pellets—clearly stolen—but Dickie loves them instantly, crowing on about he can add that to his arsenal.

Things get a little easier after that, and as Dickie’s muscles build and his stamina grows, Bruce decides to start letting him come on patrols. At first, it’s only Saturday nights, but once school lets out, Bruce increases it to thrice a week

He’s pretty exceptional, and Dickie learns not to go looking for trouble pretty quickly. Mostly it’s breaking up gang fights, Penguin trying his best to carve out territory. Valeska has people, clearly, but he himself has never made an appearance.

Dickie’s first victory is outsmarting Ed, who clearly underestimated him. He’d been trying to rob Gotham First Bank, bombs in strategic locations all around the bank. Dickie had been the one to notice the crime had been ripped straight from the pages of the old detective novels Dickie coveted.

He makes a name for himself and Gotham’s underground quickly learns not to underestimate Robin. Bruce falls in effortlessly to having a partner, not that he publicizes that. Still, it’s not like he can keep secrets from Dickie. He’s so incredibly clever, picking apart Bruce’s walls.

Those broken parts of Bruce are starting to not ache so hard. That part of him that was so starved for family, ashamed that he couldn’t find everything he needed in Alfred and Selina, is starting to ease up on him.

*

Tuesday night in late August, Bruce finishes up his paperwork, filing it away to take into the office in the morning. He glances at the clocking, noting the hour. Dickie’ll already be in the cave, suited up and waiting. Prying him out of the suit sometimes is like pulling teeth.

He stops by the kitchen on his way down, where Alfred it putting together a PB&J. Bruce nods at him, pouring himself a quick cup of coffee. He grabs a few bottles of water to stick in the car, gulping down his coffee.

“Is he already down there?” Bruce asks, sticking his cup in the sink.

“Already suited up,” Alfred says with a sigh. “Make sure he eats, yeah?”

“I will,” Bruce says, taking the proffered sandwich.

In the cave, Dickie’s already at the computer, having hacked into the CCTV around Gotham. He’s got his eyes on several prominent clubs, marking things down as he sees him. Dickie has a new theory that Harley Quinn, Valeska’s new girlfriend, is the lynch pin to the Gotham Underground.

Selina hadn’t liked that all. Bruce and Dickie haven’t seen her in a few weeks. It’s fine, he’ll deal with it.

“They’re making moves with Sionis,” Dickie says.

“Uh-huh,” Bruce says. “Have you eaten yet?”

“Of course,” Dickie says distractedly. Bruce raises an eyebrow, setting the sandwich pointedly in front of him. “Man, Alfred doesn’t let anything slip.”

“Of course not,” Bruce says with a wry smile. “Eat while I suit up.”

“Deal!” Dickie scarfs down the sandwich and gulps down one of the bottles of water. Bruce pulls on the armor pieces, turning on the comms.

“Use the bathroom before we go!” At that Dickie flushes brilliantly but stomps off to do it. Bruce snickers to himself, checking over the notes Dickie wrote out. It’s actually well thought out, appropriate venues of investigation. Selina’s not going to like that.

“Ready to go,” Dickie says, slapping his domino mask on. They’d tried a cowl for him too, but Dickie hated it. This had been the compromise.

“Batmobile, batmobile,” Dickie sang, sliding into the car. Bruce rolls his eyes at the childish name but doesn’t correct him.

“Let’s go patrol, Robin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I loved reading all the comments, they really fueled the writing process! Be on the lookout for the next in the series “Roy and Company”, about Oliver Queen and Roy Harper’s journey to Green Arrow and Speedy! Let me know what you thought!

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so a little sad, but necessary to set up the main action of the story. Heads up, the BatCat will take a little bit of a backseat in the upcoming chapters, as this story does primarily focus on the relationship between Dick and Bruce. Let me know what you thought!


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